


A Beginner’s Guide to Self-Preservation

by silverchitauri



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Compound, Avengers Tower, CEO Pepper Potts, Civil War Fix-It, Common Sense, For reasons, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hypothermia, Identity Reveal, IronDad and SpiderSon, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Acts Like a Spider, Peter Parker Whump, Science Bros, Stress, Team Bonding, Team as Family, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Whump, Worried Tony Stark, stressed Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-01-04 22:42:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18353207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverchitauri/pseuds/silverchitauri
Summary: From the moment he saved Gulmira, Tony Stark has been Peter’s hero. And now that Peter’s finally getting to know him, he’s only admiring him more.Seriously, the guy’s awesome.And he’s done so much for Peter.So when a few bumps or scrapes come along with the job, Peter takes it without complaint. He doesn’t want to bother Mr. Stark.Eh, he heals fast anyway.Tony loves the kid; he really does. He’s gotten attached to the spiderling, probably more than he should.There’s just one tiny, tiny, absolutely enormous thing: the kid doesn’t have a clue about how to take care of himself. And it’s starting to become a problem.A problem that’s making Tony almost need to dye his hair brown to hide the grey the kid is giving him.





	A Beginner’s Guide to Self-Preservation

**Author's Note:**

> These two are literally the best. There is no way I’m not writing about them every chance that I get.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter learns something: don’t swim in the East River during winter.  
> Tony learns something as well: spiders hibernate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I’m not a doctor, nor do I know how plausible it is for the entire heating system in the suit to break, but here goes.

_”Peter, I really think you should contact Mr. Stark about this.”_

“He’ll see it on the news tomorrow.”

_“I mean the fact that the temperature right now is currently 33º Fahrenheit, and your heater is broken.”_

“Karen, for the last time: I’m _fine._ ”

Peter Parker slipped off his mask, effectively shutting off the conversation for the time being. 

Karen was right: it was really, really cold. It hadn’t been nearly this cold when he started patrol that afternoon after school. Yeah, a bit chilly, but fine.

It also didn’t help that he was soaking wet. What with everything that happened in the past hour, his suit was soaked through. Bitter cold winds knifed through the fabric.

He sat on top of a rail that made up the scaffolding of the Queensboro Bridge. If he looked through the bars and criss-crossing X’s, he could see all of the lights of New York, gleaming with their brilliant colors.

The metal scaffolding pressed against his back was like a reverse heater, sucking all the warmth from his body. So, after another moment with the view, he decided to call it a night.

Wringing out the water from his mask, he slipped it back on, trying not to cringe at freezing cold fabric, icy against his skin.

Instantly, he regretted it as Karen picked up right where they left off.

_“And you just took a plunge in the East River.”_

And that happened, too. He winced a little at the memory. “I didn’t take a plunge; there was someone drowning. There’s a difference.”

 _“Peter.”_ Karen’s voice was sharp. “ _The person drowning was driven to the hospital after falling in. Y_ _ou need medical attention, too.”_

“No, I don’t. I heal fast.”

” _This isn’t about healing, Peter. Your body temperature has dropped below 96º Fahrenheit and dangerously close to hypothermia range. I need to contact Mr. Stark.”_

Panic spiked through Peter. “Nononono, Karen, don’t do that!”

_“Peter—“_

“No, please don’t,” Peter begged. Oh, man. He was starting to look textbook crazy: sitting on top of a bridge seemingly talking to himself. “I really don’t want to bother him. He’s busy tonight. He’s got a-a thing—a meeting or something tonight, and I don’t want to bug him—“

” _Peter! Hypothermia is more important than a business meeting with Pym Technologies.”_  Karen was starting to sound frustrated.

”Right! Uh, Pym Technologies,” Peter fumbled, grasping at straws. To be honest, he only vaguely recognized the name. “He’s been going on for weeks about how he wants to make a good impression on the guy, and I don’t want to interrupt it.”

_“Because they’re rivals, Peter.”_

Right. He totally knew that. “Please, Karen,” he pleaded desperately. “Don’t call him. Look, I’ll get down right now. I’ll go home, change into clothes, take a hot bath, whatever. Okay? Just don’t call Mr. Stark.”

” _Right now,_ ” Karen said sternly, sounding like May when Peter didn’t wash the dishes.

”Promise.”

Latching a web onto the side of the bridge, he swung down into the snowy January air.

_Fwip. Fwip. Fwip._

He soared alongside cars, watching as people looked at him through their windows.

When he was a kid, he’d always wanted to fly. Part of it was his adoration of Iron Man; the guy who flew around and saved people. Part of it was just the longing to soar into the skies, free from gravity.

Swinging was as close as it got, in his opinion. It was one of the best things about his new powers.

Touching down in the grass of the Queensbridge Park, he jogged the last couple steps to the sidewalk, waving at the late night stragglers bundled up like yetis in their thick coats and hats.

His backpack was right where he left it, propped in the branches of one of the trees. He’d figured that it would be one of the last places a burglar would try to get to.

 _Whew_  it was cold out. The ice seemed to seep through his skin and into his very bones like nails.

”Karen,” he hissed through chattering teeth.

_“Yes, Peter?”_

“How cold was that water?”

“ _About 40º Fahrenheit.”_

“Holy—are you serious?”

 _“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Peter. You need to get medical attention. First stage is shivering, then the cold gets to your brain, affecting memory and thinking. Then, confusion, and finally, lethargy. You need help before—_ “

”No, I don’t. I’ll be fine.” He sucked in another mouthful of air. It burned its way down his throat, stabbing his lungs with icicles.

“ _I need to keep you talking. Try to stay awake until we get home._ ”

”Sure, whatever.”

_“I will be monitoring your vitals.”_

“M’kay.” He slung his backpack clumsily over his shoulders.

_“Peter?”_

“Yeah?” He blinked, then his eyes widened as red text ran across his vision. 

Were those.....his _vitals?_

Lit up in the right was an outline of a person with blue covering the chest and torso region.

”Uh, Karen?” Peter stared some more at the heads-up display. “What’s that?”

” _That is why you need medical attention. Your core has reached 95º Fahrenheit.”_

Vaguely in the back of his mind, he knew that that was probably a bad thing, but he couldn’t remember why. He also couldn’t remember being this tired since...

”Hey, Karen,” he mumbled, taking off his backpack and sitting on one of the benches dotting the park. The bench should have been cold, but it wasn’t. “What time is it?”

_“Eleven o’clock, Peter.”_

“‘M really—“ he yawned, suddenly exhausted. “Really think ‘s to late for this sorta stuff. Gonna—“

Holy _hell_  he was hot. Burning all over with fever.

He scrabbled at the spider drone on his chest, trying to loosen the fabric, but it didn’t work.

” _Peter, stay awake. I’ve locked the elastic system for now. This is another symptom—”_

“Karen!” Peter whined. “Stop it.” It was like an inferno inside the suit.

_“Contacting Mr. Stark—“_

Peter ripped off the mask, gasping when the cold air hit his skin.

But he was so, so tired.

It was like he was an anchorless boat

drifting

                    drifting

                                           drifting

 

 

Tony hated business dinners. He especially hated dinners with self-righteous jackasses who thought they were all that.

After only a salad course with Jackass Number 1, Hank Pym, Tony was about ready to snap, glaring at his croutons as Pym droned on about how superior he was _back in his day._

In other words, the Old Testament. Dinosaurs. Ancient China.

So he left, excusing himself to go to the bathroom. He never specified that he would come back, so it wasn’t _technically_  lying.

Pepper had been the professional one, nodding considerately before shifting the subject back to finances and statistics, but _gaaaaaah._  Tony would implode rather than go back into that room.

He said so aloud to the empty room and nobody in particular.

Friday answered. “Maybe because it’s the same type of person you see everyday in the mirror.”

He ignored her, a skill that was well developed. For reasons unknown, his AIs managed to pick up on a snarky, quick-witted cadence that backfired into his face. Wonder who they learned that from. “This walking midlife crisis wants to outdo Stark Industries, he’s gonna have to do a lot worse than shrinking quarks and—“

”Boss!” Friday broke in, sounding more alarmed than Tony had ever programmed her to sound. “Boss, incoming message from Karen.”

”Karen?”

”Natural Language User Interface Number 12; programmed into the Spider-Man suit.”

 _The kid._  A jolt shot through Tony’s chest. Before he knew what he was doing, he was up on his feet. “What’s she have to say?”

A pause. Tony held his breath.

The next words made his heart stop and plummet to his toes.

”Peter’s body temperature has dropped below 95º Fahrenheit.”

He froze, unable to compehend the words. Then a rush of fury snapped him out of the daze. “And why the _hell_  am I only hearing about it now?”

”According to Karen, Peter wouldn’t let her.”

”Is the kid suddenly in charge?” Tony snarled, barely able to hear around the roar of panic in his ears. “ _Shit!_  I—“

He broke into a run. Passing by the dining room, he sprinted down the spiral staircases, round and round and round like a top, until he came to the workshop. Glass display cases that housed his armor surrounded on all sides like an arena of metal.

He tapped a code into the system’s pad and placed his palm on the sensor, all the while yelling at Friday.

”When did this start?”

”When he jumped into the East River to save someone from drowning.”

” _When he jumped into the—_  and she just _let_  him?”

”Yes, boss, but I’m fairly sure that nobody can stop Peter when he sets his mind to something.”

”He’s a stubborn fifteen-year-old kid! Of course he’s gonna try to save an old geezer in the water. What about his heater?”

“His what?”

”His heater, goddamnit! I put one in there just for the special occasion.”

”It seems that the entire heating system has been severely compromised.”

”Did you check the system’s interface?”

”Of course I did,” Friday said, sounding a little offended. “The prolonged exposure to water and cold caused the framework to reboot.”

”But that shouldn’t have caused a hardware issue—“

”It rebooted improperly. There was synapse failure.”

“Of course there was.” The display case popped open and Mark XLVII slid open with it. Tony stepped in and watched as the heads-up display flickered to life. “Where the hell is he?”

”Queensbridge Park.”

”Let’s go.” 

 

It only took a short time to get there with supersonic speed, but Tony panicked every second of it. Completely unhelpful _what if_ s ran through his mind the whole way.

What if he was too late?

What if something had happened on his way here?

What if he was too late and the kid had already—

Nope. That wasn’t an option.

He increased the thrust on his propulsors, stretching them to their limits. 

 _“Boss,”_ Friday’s voice piped through the sound system. _“We’re approaching.”_

“All right.” Tony began to head for the ground. “Scan for him.”

His heads-up display flickered with a map as he pulled up close to hover a meter or so over the park grounds.

Any other time, he would’ve admired the aesthetically pleasing layout. The park was like a mini oasis of nature in the metal desert of New York.

A path wound through the park, framed on all side by leafless trees. Leftover snow from earlier that week was piled along the lampposts that stood every few meters or so. In the center of the park was dead grass that, in the springtime, would bounce up in lush green patches. Baseball diamonds scattered throughout the park were abandoned for the winter. A forgotten baseball lay lonely in the dust.

But he only had one job now. And he had to do it as quickly as possible.

” _Boss._ ” Friday jolted him out of his thoughts. _“Karen just connected. Peter is at your nine o’clock.”_

Tony spun and his breath hitched.

To the right of one of the baseball diamonds was a bench, and on that bench was a small, unmoving lump.

_Peter._

Tony drifted to the ground, and, letting the suit open up, ran over to the bench. Peter lay still in a hunched up ball.

“Oh, kid...” He grabbed Peter’s shoulder, almost flinching away. The kid was cold to the touch, cheeks pale. The cloth of his suit was soaked through. “Damnit, Peter!”

_Think. What would Bruce do?_

Warmth. Peter needed warmth. And fast. Tony glanced around frantically, but nothing that presented itself would be of any use. How the hell had no one seen the kid lying on the bench, freezing his ass off, all alone...

But it was New York City, and that sort of thing happened all the time. There were homeless people everywhere, teens included, and nobody offered them any special treatment. The park bench was tucked away under some trees, and if Tony hadn’t had Friday, he wouldn’t have seen Peter himself.

Friday.

”That’s it,” he muttered to himself. He was a genius. Turning to Peter, he slid his hands under the kid’s shoulders. “All right, Pete. I’m gonna move you, so don’t do anything that would make me drop you.”

Peter didn’t respond, but Tony hoped to any higher power that maybe the kid could hear him. Keep him going for a little while. Heaving up, Tony slid the kid into his arms, bridal style, and carried him over to the still open suit.

”You’re heavier than you look,” he told Peter, desperately trying not to let his mind wander to a particular conversation they’d had only a year or so ago.

There hadn’t been a touchy, feely thing going on. Tony didn’t roll that way. To be honest, this had been the most physical contact they’d shared since....well, ever. The Iron-Man suit pulled Peter out of the water, once, but that was a remote control. This was different.

_”That’s not a hug. I’m just grabbing the door for you.”_

Tony looked down at Peter now. God, he hoped he wasn’t too late. “Hang tight, kid. Fri, heater on high.”

” _I wouldn’t do that, boss. Hypothermia patients can’t handle a quick shock to their system. Could be fatal. Gradual heat would be better.”_

“Gradual heat, then. And call Banner while you’re at it.”

Careful not to drop him, Tony lowered Peter into the upright suit. “Temp?”

” _Warm air to the chest and neck. Breathing, steady. Heartbeat, steady. This won’t last long, boss. He needs actual medical attention.”_

“You got Banner?”

_“He’s heading over to the Compound now.”_

“Why the Comp—oh. Medical. Gotcha. How’s the kid looking?”

” _Still stable.”_

“Right. We’ve got to get out of here fast.” He looked up at the metal faceplate. It stared back blankly. Dang, is that what he looked like all the time? Maybe that explained why people were intimidated. It looked like an angry, metal archangel. “Can you carry me?”

_“Pardon?”_

“Can you carry me?” he asked again. “I think the answer is, ‘yes’, but just making sure.”

 _“Boss, are you sure?_ ” 

“The kid needs it more than me, at this point. You can keep him inside while carrying me. Just don’t drop me. I’m wearing a nice suit, and contrary to popular belief, I’m not a robot. I die if dropped. Ready?”

He held out his arms, and felt two metal forearms hook under his armpits.

”Might want to get a parachute ready just in case we fall—holy fu—!”

The suit took off without warning, leaving Tony’s stomach far behind.

 

Being carried by the suit was a completely different experience from actually wearing it. When he was wearing it, he was one with it. It moved with him, no bumps or bruises. But when it was carrying him? Completely different story.

It was flying either way. One was just more dignified and comfortable. Both were fast. Both were effective. Both got them to the Compound in only five minutes flat.

Friday landed with a _clank_  , giving Tony’s shaking legs approximately three seconds to appreciate solid ground, before opening the suit up to reveal an unconscious spider-kid.

”Friday,” he barked, running over, nausea forgotten. “Vitals.”

” _Holding steady, boss. Banner is waiting for you._ ”

As if on cue, the door to the facility slammed open and a rumpled looking Bruce Banner ran through, still pulling on a jacket.

”Tony, what the hell is going on—“

He froze like he’d been petrified by Medusa. Eyes wide, mouth half open, and Tony remembered with absolutely terrible timing that he hadn’t told the Avengers who Spider-Man was yet.

When the Bruce-Sculpture showed no signs of moving, Tony took the initiative. “Buddy, I know it’s late, but I kinda need your help. Like, really need your help. I don’t know how long this kid has.”

“Tony, how the hell did you get a _kid_  in the past twelve hours—?”

”Bruce!”

In between one blink and the next, Bruce disappeared and Dr. Banner took his place.

”Right,” he said, moving forward quickly. “Dr. Cho is actually here with me to go over stem cell implants in synthetic organs to stimulate growth, but she can help.”

Tony usually would’ve argued against it simply for Peter’s identity, but from the wan pallor of the kid’s cheeks, it didn’t look like he had much of a choice.

 _“I got her,_ ” Friday said, and, sure enough, Helen Cho came running out of the Compound seconds later.

”Stark, what do you need me for?” she asked breathlessly, then froze just like Bruce had. “Never mind. Bring him in.”

Okay, maybe Tony had to amend his earlier statement a little. Helen Cho was pretty awesome.

Tony carried Peter into the facility, trying not to imagine how much time had passed since Peter had dropped below 95º. Two of the world’s greatest doctors were here, and if anyone was going to be able to do anything, they could.

They’d probably seen worse.

“Here.” Helen gestured for Tony, pointing at a bed. “Put him here.”

Tony did, gently laying the kid down on his back.

”Now go grab blankets.”

 

For the next while, it was back and forth and back and forth for Tony; grabbing blankets, getting this, getting that.

The more he entered the room, the less he wanted to be there. Out in the park, he had been in complete denial about the severity of the condition Peter was in. Now, though, in a veritable hospital bed, Tony could fully see what was going on.

Peter was in really, really bad shape. An oxygen mask covered the lower half of his face, steaming up every so often from the humidified oxygen. Blankets covered him from tip to toe. An IV needle was jammed into his inner forearm, probably full of warm, life-giving BS that drained from the bag hung on the IV pole next to the bed.

Tony honestly didn’t know. All he knew was that the heartbeat on the monitor was the kid’s, and they were tracking it to make sure he didn’t go into cardiac arrest.

Cardiac arrest was not a word Tony usually associated with healthy teenage kids. It was too early to be thinking about that. Way too early. For any of this.

And it wasn’t true that he didn’t know. He knew exactly what was in those IVs, in that oxygen mask. He had to. If the kid died on his watch, that was his fault. No, he didn’t want to have to face yet another parent of a child that had died at his hands.

He couldn’t do that again.

“Tony.”

Tony looked up, bleary eyed, to find Helen Cho standing in the doorway to the room. She was looking down at the scene, Tony sitting half-asleep in the chair next to Peter’s bed, with a soft expression on her face.

”Helen.” He sat up, raising an eyebrow. “Need me to do anything?”

”No, Tony,” she said. “You’ve done enough. Go rest.”

”I am resting,” he replied, gesturing to the chair. “Not like I’m really exerting myself or anything.”

”You are,” she said. “And you need to stop worrying.”

”No can do.” Wait, why the hell would he tell her that? Maybe he really was tired.

”Fine,” she said, leaning down. “Worry all you want, but it’s time for you to get some rest and let the doctors check up on their patient. You aren’t going to do Peter any good if you collapse from exhaustion.”

Tony paused. He knew he could argue with her, and he might win with his stubbornness. But he had to admit she was right on part of it. He could barely keep his eyes open anymore, and he trusted Bruce and Helen enough to leave the kid with them. They probably knew what they were doing more than he did.

He’d only get in the way at this point.

”Fine,” he muttered gruffly. “But you’re updating me about _everything_. No exceptions. If he starts speaking Orcish or something, update me about that too.”

She blinked a little, like she hadn’t expected him to give in so quickly. Neither had he, really. She recovered quickly.

”Of course,” she said. “Now, go.” She nudged him toward the door.

 

Nothing was making sense.

He could see Bruce and Helen’s mouths moving, but the words that were spilling out couldn’t be what he thought he was hearing.

The night before had been short. After getting home, he’d ignored Pepper yelling at him for ditching the Pym Party and instantly collapsed on his bed, getting the longest sleep he’d had in a long time.

That did not mean he avoided the Conversation with Pepper. It came back to bite him in the ass five minutes after he got up. But she was surprisingly understanding, even offering to drive him there. He declined, but still.

Now, though, he regretted turning her down. It would’ve been a lot nicer to have someone else who was confused with him, instead of being the only one in the room not getting the point.

Tony had gone in to check on the kid, only to be greeted with a metaphorical cow-pie in the face.

Their words were:

”We think Peter’s gone into hibernation.”

Tony wasn’t sure he heard right. “Hiber-what?”

”Hibernation. A state of deep unconsciousness caused by—“

”Yeah, I know what hibernation means,” Tony snapped, realizing that he was probably antagonizing everyone in his path. “What’s it have to do with the kid?”

”We think,” Helen Cho took over, glaring at Tony. “We think that his mutated genes followed the spider DNA code infused in them, causing the body to shut down to protect itself from winter. This also activated something found in some spiders’ blood: antifreeze. Though this usually works less noticeably for spiders, Peter’s blood seems to have completely insulated his veins from freezing over.”

”Great. Does any of this tell me how long this takes? Like, minutes, years? Give me a time-frame.”

Bruce and Helen exchanged a loaded look before turning back to him.

_This can’t be good._

Bruce spoke first, gently, like he was talking to a kid in shock. “Tony. This might take a long time.”

”Stop the BS. Give me a time!”

”Months, Tony. It might take months.”

Tony stared at him for a moment, then pushed past into Peter’s room.

”Tony, wait—“ Bruce called, but Tony waved him off.

”Give us—give me a moment,” he said. Helen Cho pulled Bruce out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

Now it was just him and Peter. Well, it felt like just him. Peter was never this quiet.

“Damnit, kid,” he sighed, dropping his head to his folded hands. “What am I gonna do with you?”


End file.
